


A Little Revenge

by Ariana (ariana_paris)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Backrubs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-07
Updated: 2004-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariana_paris/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape is feeling fragile following a particularly disturbing encounter with the Death Eaters. Lupin offers some comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> Set after _The Order of the Phoenix_ , ignores later character developments.  
> Many thanks to Siriusly Black, Amber Ritter and DravenSwann for reassuring me that I could still write after a long break from fanfic

"-- He didn't accuse me by name, but some of the other Death Eaters looked in my direction. When he left, they brought in two Muggles. Given what the Dark Lord had said, I thought it best to stay."

"Muggles?" interrupted Tonks, her eyes wide with alarm beneath the blue curls. "What on Earth did they want Muggles for?"

Snape gave her a cold look. He was giving his report to the Order following his latest encounter with the Death Eaters. It was late at night, he hadn't slept or eaten for twenty-four hours, and he did not like to be interrupted.

"I think we all know what Death Eaters do to Muggles," said Dumbledore with none of his usual bonhomie. "Do continue, Severus."

"The Muggles were tortured, then murdered. I was allowed to leave," concluded Snape.

It was a warm August evening and the windows were open in the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, but Snape was acutely aware of the cold silence which followed his pronouncement.

"Tortured and murdered?" repeated Molly after a pause, her normally kind face contorted into a mask of disgust. "And you just stood there and watched?"

Snape had to fight to control his anger. "It was a test, Molly," he said in a quiet, menacing voice. "Standing and watching was not an option."

Most of the people around the table were now struggling to conceal their disgust. He felt his anger intensify. What did they think he would have to do to convince the Death Eaters that he was a faithful follower of the Dark Lord? Play Exploding Snap? 

Looking around the table, Snape willed them to look him in the eye, defying them to say anything, refusing to be ashamed of doing what was necessary. Minerva and Molly avoided his gaze. Arthur Weasley tried to look him in the eye, but then lowered his gaze as well, as did Tonks, her fingers twining nervously in her long blue hair. Lupin looked sorry for him, which was probably worse. Moody at least looked as if he understood Snape's position, his one real eye meeting his gaze without discomfort while his magical one swivelled to observe his neighbours. Dumbledore was the only one whose eyes radiated both concern and understanding.

But try as they might, they didn't understand. None of them knew what had happened, what it felt like to participate in acts of such --

"Excuse me," said Snape suddenly, walking straight out of the kitchen and to the nearest bathroom.

Staring into the stained Victorian toilet bowl a few minutes later, Snape reflected how extraordinary it was that his body could still react with such violence when his mind had long since gone numb. He remembered everything he had done that evening, but he viewed the events with detachment, as if he had stumbled into someone else's Pensieve. What was one more crime to add to the long list of his sins?

Satisfied that his insides were empty, Snape slumped back into an awkward sitting position against the wall. Lifting his hands, he was half-surprised to find how clean they were.

He asked himself how much more he could take.

Dismissing that unproductive thought, Snape struggled to pull himself together. There was a war to win; he couldn't afford to fall to pieces. He had told Dumbledore that he could do this. So what was he doing, sitting in a toilet, too exhausted to even flush away the stench of his own guilt?

A knock on the door startled him.

"Severus?"

Why was it always bloody Lupin? 

At first, it had been the women. Molly, Minerva -- even that pipsqueak Tonks -- had all tried to offer comforting words, apparently thinking that a report which made _them_ uncomfortable meant they should comfort Snape. But he had successfully browbeaten them into going against their instincts and leaving him alone. He did not want comfort; comfort meant weakening his defences, lowering his guard. He couldn't afford comfort.

But Lupin was stubborn as a mule. He seemed to have set himself up as the _de facto_ counsellor for the Order, dispensing impartial advice and quiet consolation wherever necessary. Unlike the witches, he appeared impervious to Snape's taunts about his werewolf nature and personal life. The werewolf was a bloody saint.

" _Alohomora_!"

The bathroom door swung open. Snape was too ashamed of his own weakness to look up and see Lupin's pity. He heard the door close again. The werewolf leaned over to flush the toilet, then handed him a steaming glass. Snape was tempted to throw the offering away, whatever it was, but his hand was trembling so hard when he took the glass that he could barely bring it to his lips. It was warm wine fortified with herbs; each sip seemed to breathe new strength to Snape's weakened body.

Lupin crouched beside him; Snape could just see his greying hair and blue T-shirt out of the corner of his eye.

"Severus, Dumbledore has adjourned the meeting. You should tell him anything important when he comes back tomorrow. Anything else can wait until next week."

"Very well, I'll go home," said Snape, pulling himself to his feet. He swayed and had to lean on the wall to support himself. Lupin reached out to help him, but Snape shook him off angrily.

"Dumbledore thinks it would be safer if you stay here," said Lupin, his arms falling to his sides. "You need a good night's rest after what happened and your defences are low."

Snape looked at him sharply. Dumbledore had obviously probed his mind during the meeting; he knew the headmaster used his Legilimens powers on occasion, particularly when he felt that outright communication might be awkward. Under normal circumstances, Snape could feel the probe; the fact that he had missed it meant that his defences must indeed be very low.

"And Dumbledore thinks a house full of Weasleys is the best place for me to rebuild my defences?"

Lupin smiled politely. "You'll stay in my room; I'll sleep in the living-room. The children don't know you're here; they won't bother you."

Snape doubted whether the children would have bothered him even if they did know he was there. He had never exactly encouraged them to seek him out at school.

Drained by the last twenty-four hours, Snape allowed Lupin to support him as they walked up the stairs. When they passed the second floor, Snape heard a burst of girlish giggles. Misses Granger and Weasley engaging in some late night conversation, no doubt. He remembered glimpsing their pale, stricken faces when they returned to Hogwarts after the battle at the Ministry and felt another wave of nausea.

Lupin led him to the room at the top of the house.

"This was Black's room," remarked Snape.

"It's mine now," said Lupin simply.

Snape sat on the bed as the werewolf gathered some belongings to take down to the living room. The windows were open, but an animal smell lingered in the room. He noticed long scrape marks on the wooden floor and remembered that Black had kept a full-grown hippogriff in this room. The animal had been taken back to Hogwarts now that it was no longer under threat from the Ministry. Lucius Malfoy's influence on the Wizarding World was finally broken, and nobody cared what harm the animal had done his son.

Still observing the room, Snape noticed a different set of marks on the wooden bedstead. These had clearly been made by the teeth of a canine. Frustrated though that idiot Black had probably been, Snape doubted he would have taken on his animagus form just to maul the furniture.

"I thought the Wolfsbane Potion allowed you to retain your sanity," he remarked.

Lupin was collecting his toiletries from the washstand. He followed Snape's gaze and shrugged.

"It doesn't stop me feeling a little frustrated." Lupin walked over to the bedside table and waved his wand. "I nearly forgot. I made you some sandwiches. I thought you might be hungry."

A plate of sandwiches and another glass of wine appeared on the table. Lupin looked very pleased with himself, as if he were not usually so good at conjuring. For a moment, Snape could see the boy he'd known at school under the prematurely aged features. How he had hated Potter and his cronies, he remembered, his insides still lurching at the memory of what they had done to him. And yet, what was left of them now? Two of them dead, this man standing here, and the last... He shuddered as he remembered seeing Wormtail that evening, his silver hand tearing through flesh, pulling out the still pumping...

" _Accio_ basin," he called out, bringing the washbasin to his lap before his guts emptied again. 

Lupin sat on the bed and smoothed back his hair as he continued to retch. Had he been stronger, Snape would have hexed the werewolf for daring to touch him, but in his weakened state, he could do little more than stare into the porcelain basin with watery eyes. The vile mixture of wine and bile swirled like blood.

"We'll win," said Lupin softly. "Harry will kill him, and no one will have to go through that again."

Snape wondered if he was referring to the murdered Muggles or to him, but was too tired to ask. He felt that while Lupin's confidence in their victory was justified, his statement about no one ever going through this again was overoptimistic. People would always go through this as long as people existed. It was human nature to destroy and crush those who were weaker.

The fit seemed to be finished; he handed the basin to Lupin, who emptied it with a flick of his wand. His mind still lost in the horrible events of the evening, Snape barely noticed that the werewolf was unbuttoning his tunic.

"You need to eat, and you need to rest," said Lupin, pulling the garment off him and pushing him back onto the bed. "I have some Sleeping Potion you can use, but try to eat some of these sandwiches first."

Realising that he was indeed very hungry, Snape obediently picked up a sandwich. It tasted foul mixed with the bile still in his mouth, but at least it was food. By the time he had eaten the third round, Lupin was rooting through his things, looking for the potion. He finally produced a small blue vial which Snape drank. It was a commercial preparation, no doubt too weak to have any effect.

"I surprised you didn't summon chocolate," said Snape, remembering something Draco Malfoy had told him three years before. "That seemed to be your sovereign cure for the children."

Lupin smiled. "I decided you weren't a child." He dimmed the lights and sat down on the bed again, starting to undo the buttons on Snape's boots.

"I gather you passed Voldemort's test," he said softly.

"Yes, I suppose I did."

There was a pause. Lupin pulled off the left boot and wrinkled his nose at the smell, much to Snape's amusement. Werewolves were reputed to have a very sensitive sense of smell even in their human form, and Snape had been wearing the boots for hours in the warm August weather. However, Lupin pursed his lips with typical Gryffindor determination and leaned over to undo Snape's other boot.

"Severus, you shouldn't shut us out like this," he said, his eyes downcast. "We all want to help you."

Snape assumed he was referring to the people in the Order, but saw no reason to make things easy.

"'We'?" he drawled. "Is that just the wizard and the werewolf talking, or is the raving queen also concerned for my well-being?"

Lupin said nothing, though Snape noted with satisfaction that his mouth was again drawn in a tight line. But of course, the werewolf wasn't going to rise to the bait.

"You're a fucking saint, Remus," said Snape with irritation.

Lupin pulled off his right boot. "No, I'm not. I just don't feel the need to punish the world for my misfortunes."

"You think that's what I'm doing?"

"I know that's what you're doing," said Lupin, glancing up at him. "I don't think you'd be throwing up your guts if you really were the cold bastard you make yourself out to be. You've just never been taught to express your feelings as anything other than anger."

Angry as he was, Snape was unable to think of a retort which wouldn't prove Lupin's point. Why did the irritating half-breed have to be so damn insightful? It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, Lupin always got the better of him. Not content to put up with his humiliating remarks as if he had the heart of a saint, the creature compounded his meek attitude by pretending to actually _understand_ Snape. Irritated by the werewolf's calm, and the reluctant guilt it engendered in him, Snape seized the glass on the bedside table and gripped it so hard that it shattered, splattering blood and wine on the sheets.

"It's been a while since I saw someone do that," commented Lupin. " _Reparo_! _Scourgify_!"

With the glass repaired and the sheet cleaned, he took Snape's hand to observe the injuries. The feeling of Lupin's dry, warm hands on his skin was disturbing -- it had been a long time since someone had touched him so gently -- and Snape snatched his hand away.

"I'm not so weak that I can't perform a simple healing spell!" he hissed.

Snape looked at the smattering of small wounds on the palm of his hand, each one capped with a perfect sphere of bright red blood. They were hardly worth healing, but feeling Lupin's eyes on him, he cast the spell and watched the droplets congeal, scab over and vanish.

Snape lay down and realised that Lupin was watching him in silence.

"Tell me, Severus, do you often take a Sleeping Potion?"

Snape rolled his eyes; in his irritation at Lupin, he had forgotten all about the potion. As expected, it was having no effect, even though any normal person would have been fast asleep by now. He shrugged. Lupin shook his head.

"I suppose you make yourself a stronger one," he said. "Your body gets used to the potion if you use it for too long."

"I see you have added Potions to your expertise," sneered Snape. "Decided to try your hand at my job after your great success at Defence Against The Dark Arts, have you?"

Lupin pursed his lips again; Snape was pleased to see him struggling so hard not to rise to the bait. Maybe there were some emotions under that meek exterior after all.

"There was a time when I took a great deal of Sleeping Draught," said the werewolf finally, his eyes downcast. "I thought if I took enough, I might stop waking up at all. But I got over it."

"There are far more efficient potions for those purposes," Snape pointed out. "If you add just half a teaspoon of salt to The Draught of the Living Death, it will kill you within a couple of minutes. It's also undetectable if you're trying to murder someone."

"Trust you to know that."

"I _am_ a Potions Master," drawled Snape, though he thought his usual intimidating style would work better if he weren't currently lying flat on his back. "I could kill either of us a hundred different ways."

Lupin smiled, leaning casually against the post at the foot of the bed. "Must be being so cheerful keeps you going."

Snape wondered if Dumbledore had ordered Lupin to make sure he slept. The thought irritated him.

"You may go, you know. I'm quite capable of getting myself to sleep," he said.

"Without an extra dose of Sleeping Potion? All right, I'll watch you."

"Half an hour ago, you were ready to leave," said Snape, frowning. 

"That's before I realised there's no way you're going to get to sleep this soon. I have my orders."

"I see. I had no idea Dumbledore took such an intimate interest in the sleeping patterns of his followers."

"You're not just any follower," said Lupin calmly. "I don't want to give you a big head, Severus, but you're a pretty important part of Dumbledore's plan. It's all very well waiting for a sixteen-year-old to fulfil his destiny, but in the meantime, we need to know what the Death Eaters are up to. And that means we need you."

"I wasn't aware that the Order was in any danger of losing me," said Snape coldly. "I know nobody trusts me, but I can assure you my loyalty to Dumbledore will not waver."

"It's not about loyalty. It's about sanity," said Lupin, folding his arms. "You're under more pressure than anyone else in the Order. I know you have a strong mind, Severus, but I can't imagine it's easy to keep up this kind of pretence all the time."

Snape sat up. "I can handle it."

"Maybe. But Dumbledore thinks you need to relax." An ironic smile curled Lupin's lips. "And all three of me agree with him. If you wind yourself up any tighter, you'll implode."

Snape scowled at him. "And how come he picked _you*_ to unwind me?"

"Because he knows I'm a fucking saint."

The swearword sounded so incongruous coming from mild-mannered Remus Lupin that it made Snape smile. His irritation at the creature faded. The sandwiches had pacified his stomach and although it did not make him sleepy, the Sleeping Potion had left him feeling quite relaxed. Maybe he was in the mood to be unwound after all.

Lupin stood up and moved to sit further up the bed, level with Snape's midriff. Snape lay down again, curious to hear what the werewolf would say.

"I have a suggestion," he started, though he hesitated. Whatever he was about to suggest, Snape had a feeling he wasn't going to like it. "May I remove your shirt?"

"No."

"Can I touch you?"

Snape lifted an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation before answering such bizarre questions. Lupin took a deep breath, and when he spoke, he looked down at his hands.

"I've often found that a massage can help. It's certainly a well-known remedy for tension."

Snape stared at him. No wonder Lupin had been cagey about his suggestion. Snape had spent his whole life developing a persona which actively discouraged this kind of offer. In fact, he expected Lupin to realise how stupid it sounded and go away. But of course, he didn't.

"Come on, Severus. Turn over," said Lupin. "If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop."

"I don't suppose my current discomfort would make you not start in the first place?" said Snape with mixed apprehension and anticipation. 

"Which part of me makes you uncomfortable?" asked Lupin, frowning at him with barely disguised irritation. "Are you afraid I'm going to hex you, bite you or jump you?"

"If I were you, I'd probably hex me."

"That wouldn't be very saintly of me, would it?"

Lupin was certainly getting plenty of mileage out of Snape's remark. He eyed the werewolf suspiciously, but turned onto his stomach, propping his head on his folded arms with his face turned away from Lupin.

After a brief pause, he felt the other man touch his back. Despite the barrier of material, Lupin's hands felt warm and knowledgeable. It occurred to Snape that he had never had a back rub; his mistresses had mostly been lousy lovers, whatever their other qualities. This felt a lot better than he'd imagined. He wondered if it would feel better without the shirt getting in the way.

Snape pulled himself up into a sitting position, his back to Lupin, and unbuttoned enough of his shirt to pull it over his head. Lupin's hands followed the movement, caressing his skin as the material brushed upwards. Snape threw the shirt onto the floor. He could feel the werewolf's breath on his neck and it made him shiver. Just how dangerous was Lupin at this time of month? He knew there was no danger in theory, with the full moon three weeks away. But he still remembered the terror he had felt; the snapping jaws; the evil, yellow eyes; the bruising grasp of James Potter's terrified hand on his arm, pulling him back...

Unaware of his train of thought, Lupin continued to stroke his back, and Snape relaxed. The werewolf was not dangerous, and on this day more than any other, he need the company of a human being. Even half a human being was better than none at all.

Snape lay on his front again; he heard the werewolf summon something and felt a cool trickle of liquid down his spine. When they touched him again, Lupin's oily hands slid more easily over his skin. Snape reflected that the last thing his skin needed was more oil, but the sensation was exquisite. He wondered why Lupin kept oil at close hand, before realising that the answer to that particular question was obvious. Not that he could imagine what sexual partners the creature could have had at Grimmauld Place.

His mind continued to wander, freed for once of the draconian restraint of Occlumency which was its constant prison in the presence of Death Eaters -- and not so infrequently at Hogwarts. Snape decided that backs were an underrated pleasure centre. He couldn't say whether the massage was doing anything beneficial to his muscles, but he decided he would demand this from anyone he managed to lure to his bed in future.

Continuing the trend of his body reacting while his mind was oblivious, Snape realised that he was becoming aroused. His thoughts returned to the subject of the oil, and he wondered whether Lupin was also affected. After all, he knew he would be reasonably aroused himself if he were called on to give a massage to a topless Tonks, despite the fact that she was a former student of his and not someone Snape would categorise as his type. Relaxed as he was right now, he wondered if he would even find the sight of a topless Lupin all that repulsive. Although he had never explored the matter further, Snape had occasionally found the physique of another man appealing.

As if to answer his musings, Lupin shifted his position and, after a moment's hesitation, straddled him. Snape tensed at the unfamiliar weight on his buttocks and the unmistakable prod of the other man's erection. Lupin sat still for a moment, perhaps waiting to see his reaction. Snape thought about protesting this sudden shift in strategy, but decided he would like the massage to continue. The idea that the homosexual might also relieve his growing arousal was not entirely distasteful. He could no doubt intimidate Lupin into never mentioning the subject again if the experience proved too embarrassing. 

Taking Snape's lack of reaction for consent, Lupin resumed the massage, his fingers bolder now, first digging into Snape's flesh as if to physically untie knots of frustration and anger, then trailing brushing caresses, light as butterflies, down his skin. The touch was somehow more intimate now and less studied, as if the creature were succumbing to his own desire. Lupin's breathing was audible, the erection still present, and Snape's own arousal increased at the thought that this man, normally so calm and reserved, desired him.

Snape pushed himself up on his elbows. Lupin moved over to kneel on the bed beside him. His former classmate's face was flushed; it was peculiar to see such a familiar face in such an unfamiliar state. Snape wondered how much it would take for the werewolf to lose control.

Lupin wasn't looking him in the eye and Snape was uncertain how to proceed. The prospect of the man's skilled hands touching him intimately was exciting. But despite Lupin's obvious desire, Snape couldn't be sure that the werewolf actually wanted to have a sexual encounter with him. Then on the other hand, Lupin was probably also wondering if Snape was interested. The situation was complicated; some kind of communication was needed. But anything too blatant might lead to rejection, and Snape had had enough rejection to last him a lifetime.

He placed his hand on the hem of Lupin's T-shirt, pushing it upwards slightly. If Lupin took the hint and pulled it off, the game was on. If he withdrew, then they could both still pretend that nothing had happened beyond a comforting backrub.

His eyes still averted from Snape's face, Lupin crossed his arms and grabbed his T-shirt, pulling it off in one graceful movement. Snape's mouth went dry. They were on. Now what did he do?

Fortunately, Lupin was more familiar with this kind of activity. He lay on his side and guided Snape onto his back, then ran his hand over Snape's chest, curling his fingers in the sparse dark hair, then repeating the same feather-light caress as he had used on his back. Trying to control his breathing before he whimpered like a complete idiot, Snape caught Lupin's eye. The other man licked his lips, a worrying predatory look on his normally timid features as he moved closer.

For a moment, Snape was afraid that the werewolf might kiss him on the mouth; he wasn't quite ready for something that intimate. But Lupin bent over to kiss his chest instead. Snape had never found his own nipples particularly interesting, but the feeling of the other man's mouth on his body reminded him that he didn't perform this kind of activity often enough. He was also pleased to discover that Lupin's caressing hand was moving lower, until it cupped his trousers. Snape gasped and Lupin looked up at him with amusement, pleased to have got such a clear reaction.

Snape closed his eyes as Lupin stroked him slowly and deliberately through the material. He doubted that this was the kind of relaxation Dumbledore had had in mind, but it seemed to be doing the trick very nicely. His already unguarded mind was turning to mush.

He opened his eyes when the stroking stopped, and saw Lupin unfastening his trousers, his prematurely aged face intent, his expression unreadable. Snape wondered what the man was thinking. Then Lupin lowered his head and Snape stopped wondering about anything at all.

It had been far too long and this was far too good. Years of training and careful control kept him from crying out, but Snape still gripped the sheets harder than he had expected, his breath coming out in ragged bursts.

Lupin straightened up, absently wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, his eyes on nothing in particular and his mind elsewhere. Snape knew better than to feel disappointed. In fact, the werewolf's detachment would make it easier to pretend this had never happened, as they would no doubt have to in the morning. He reached down, meaning to close his trousers and give himself at least the illusion of having maintained his dignity, but the movement shook Lupin out of his reverie.

They stared at each other in silence.

Lupin lowered his eyes first. He was still flushed and no doubt still aroused. Snape's heart sank as he realised he should reciprocate. It was only common courtesy under the circumstances.

Before Snape could think of a dignified way of relieving Lupin's desire, the werewolf touched him again. He ran his hand up Snape's stomach this time, then followed the trail with his mouth, breathing soft kisses on the sallow skin. Snape tensed when Lupin kissed his mouth, but he didn't deepen the caress, moving instead to brush his lips against Snape's neck. It felt strange to be the focus of so much attention. Remembering that he was supposed to be reciprocating, Snape placed a hand on Lupin's back, giving it an uncertain stroke. This seemed to fuel Lupin's desire further, making him grind his hips against Snape's, his warm, hairy skin rubbing against Snape's chest. 

Lupin reached down between them to unfasten his own trousers. Snape tensed again, uncertain what the other man wanted and whether it was something he could provide. But as it turned out, Lupin's plan didn't involve Snape at all; he was stroking himself, his eyes closed, perhaps imagining that the warm body beside him belonged to someone else. Snape looked up at the dark, dusty curtains on the four poster bed, and decided that if he was going to be involved in this, he might as well participate. He shifted his position to free his right hand and reached down. Lupin's eyes flew open, and he let out a moan of surprise and arousal.

Pleased that he had got the man's attention, Snape continued to stroke him. Lupin's mild manners were fading as his excitement grew. He kissed Snape hungrily, then turned onto his back, pulling the other wizard on top of him. This was another peculiar turn of events, and again, Snape got the impression there was something more going on in Lupin's head than the activities in the bed. 

Then unexpectedly, Lupin pushed Snape away and stood up, fastening his trousers. He walked out of the room without a word. As he went, Snape noticed that he was rubbing at his eyes.

Puzzled, Snape looked at the closed door for a few moments.

On the whole, this had been a bizarre evening. The horror of the Muggles' murders was now superimposed with Lupin's strange behaviour, and Snape felt drained and uncertain. He didn't like to feel so out of control. Not knowing whether Lupin would return, he prepared to spend the night in the bed. He wasn't used to sleeping nude, so he picked one of Lupin's T-shirts from the pile of clean clothes on a chair. It was large enough to reach down to his hips; keeping his underwear on, Snape slipped under the sheets. He could hear faint music from the Muggle houses in Grimmauld Place. He closed his eyes.

Snape woke up with a start, alarmed that he had dozed off without noticing, and immediately on his guard at the realisation that something had woken him. Looking around, he found that Lupin had returned and was leaning against the door. Even in the dim light, Snape could see that Lupin had been crying. Snape looked around the room as something occurred to him.

"Was Black your lover?" he asked, his tone neutral.

Lupin's mouth curled into a bitter smile. "No. But thanks for asking. I think you were the only adult here who hadn't already asked me that question."

"It's a logical assumption," said Snape coldly, annoyed that his sudden inspiration was incorrect.

"Yes, I suppose it is." Lupin ran his hand through his greying hair. "But we weren't lovers." 

He started to pace, his mind lost in thought. Snape watched him walking to and fro, and wondered whether Dumbledore would forgive him if he hexed the miserable sod. Just something quick and painless to keep him still.

"I don't even like you," said Lupin with agitation. "You're mean, arrogant, petty-minded, heartless and vindictive."

"You break my heart," commented Snape without emotion. "Oh, no, I forget. I don't have one. I might remind you that you're not my favourite person either."

"The difference is that you hate what I am. A monster. A poofter. I just don't like _you_."

Snape still didn't see what this conversation was about. He got the feeling that there were three people in this room. Himself, Lupin, and whoever it was that Lupin kept thinking about. He was still hoping that it wasn't Black.

"Is there a point to all this?" he asked with a disinterested drawl.

Lupin stopped pacing and wrapped one arm around a bedpost, leaning on it as if bracing himself for a fight.

"I want you to fuck me."

That certainly qualified as clear communication. Snape was taken aback, reduced to silence for a moment while he pondered what to do with the unexpected weapon Lupin had just handed him.

"Yes, I suppose you do," he said silkily, looking Lupin over with studied indifference.

"Don't be a bastard about this, Severus."

"What, after your eloquent little catalogue of my more attractive qualities?" Snape raised an eyebrow. 

"I gave you what you wanted," said Lupin accusingly.

The thought was so ridiculous that Snape smiled. "Oh, yes, I've always wanted to be blown by a werewolf. Am I expected to feel flattered that you have chosen me because I am the only man in your bed right now?"

Lupin let go of the bedpost, his face twisted in self-loathing. "I'm going downstairs."

"No you're not," said Snape with confidence. "Take your clothes off and come here."

Lupin's hand was on the doorknob, but he paused. Typical Gryffindor; all bravura, but no pride. The wizard was staring at the wooden door, frozen in a moment of indecision. Then Lupin turned towards him and Snape knew he had won. It wasn't the simple, bitter victory of getting the man expelled from his job at Hogwarts either, but the far sweeter surrender of an intimate desire.

Lupin cast a silencing spell on the room and removed his clothes before coming to stand by the bed. Snape sat up tailor style, observing Lupin's naked body with careful attention. Considering where his preferences lay, it was paradoxical that Lupin looked far more virile than Snape himself. The man's body was stockier, with well-developed muscles; possibly a recent side-effect of his role as one of the Order's 'heavies', as Tonks called them. He certainly hadn't been this strong at school. His skin was hairy with sandy curls, nothing like the grey pelt of a werewolf. Snape ran his hand up Lupin's stomach and chest, feeling the hairs curl around his fingers, listening to the man's heavy breathing and thundering heartbeat. He pulled Lupin's head down for a hard kiss.

He wondered what had prompted Lupin's strange offer. Desperation, no doubt. Wizards were no more tolerant of men who had sexual relations with other men than they were of werewolves. The combination of both sins probably made Lupin a lonely man. The thought occurred that Snape should pity the wizard for his unfortunate lot in life. But Snape had long since spent all his pity on himself, and the only emotion Lupin's desperation inspired was satisfaction.

He pulled Lupin onto the bed, delighted at how compliant the werewolf was, and surprised at how arousing he found the man's hairy body now it was placed under his control. Lupin reached for the T-shirt Snape was wearing, trying to remove it, but Snape pulled his hands away. The werewolf had seen quite enough of his former classmate's pallid, scrawny body for the evening. Snape was in control now, and he intended to stay that way. Being naked had never made him feel powerful; he had a far better weapon at his disposal.

"Tell me, Remus," he drawled. "Did you only think of me tonight, or is this something you've always wanted?" 

The other man opened his eyes; he had clearly not expected a conversation. When he said nothing, Snape trailed his hand over Lupin's genitals and continued.

"How do I do this in your fantasies?"

Lupin shot him a murderous look quite at odds with his usual demeanour, but if anything, his breathing had become harder. So he had guessed right; Snape pressed home his advantage with a more deliberate caress that made the other man groan. It was delightful to think that an evening which had started with him throwing up in a toilet could end with him in control of one of his childhood tormentors.

Snape looked at the vial of oil on the bedside table, and their wands beside it, considering whether to use one of them. 

"I doubt you would imagine me as a gentle lover," he said silkily. "Perhaps I should live up to my Death Eater past and cause you some pain. That is the only reason I can imagine for your proposition to someone so _heartless_ and _arrogant_."

Lupin looked as if he were about to say something, but thought better of it. Snape spat on his hand and the man pulled himself up on his elbows, watching Snape's preparations with undeniable lust. Then he threw his head back and groaned as Snape shifted position between his legs and pushed forward.

The ecstatic expression on Lupin's handsome face made the whole experience that much more enjoyable. The physical sensations were familiar; warm, tight, slick with his saliva, no different from the occasional times he had possessed a woman in this way. But dominating a man, and the last remaining Marauder who had all his sanity at that, was a new emotional sensation. Snape remembered the other surviving Marauder and the acts he had participated in that evening, and pushed harder.

He could see why Lupin had put a silencing charm on the room. The man was loud, rewarding every move Snape made with a groan or a word of encouragement.

"You really do want this," said Snape haltingly.

"Whatever gives you that idea, Severus?" asked Lupin with amusement.

Snape made a mental note to shut up if he didn't have anything intelligent to say. Annoyed at losing some of his advantage, he moved his hips to a different angle and thrust hard. Lupin groaned and gripped Snape's shoulders, guiding his movements. Snape watched his face, curiosity mingling with his own pleasure. He had heard that men could enjoy this, though he had never felt inclined to explore the matter himself. It wasn't an activity any normal pure-blooded wizard would admit to enjoying. But seen from this angle, it was intriguing to realise that he could cause so much pleasure with a single thrust of his hips. The power it gave him over Lupin was intoxicating.

Lupin's cries were getting louder, his expression wilder as he lost control, crying out, swearing, calling Snape's name. Victory close at hand, Snape stroked him, holding back his own desire in order to control Lupin until the man was spent, awash with the force of his climax.

"Not so much of a greasy git now, right?" muttered Snape, catching Lupin's eye.

The other wizard gave him a rueful smile, but Snape was not interested in his reaction. Now was his turn to finish and he knew exactly how he wanted the man. Snape drew away and pulled at Lupin's hips, turning him over. Access was easier from this angle, unhindered by his legs and genitals. Snape gripped Lupin's hips as the wizard held onto the headboard. Whatever the angle did for Lupin, it was perfect for Snape. He again reflected that sex in the company of a warm partner was far preferable to celibacy, then savoured the moment when reflection meant nothing at all. He released Lupin and rolled onto his back.

Lupin collapsed onto his front, his face half buried in the pillows, but flushed with pleasure. Snape smiled at him, gratified by the man's clear satisfaction and the knowledge that he was the cause of it. He looked up at the draped canopy of Sirius Black's bed. _Well, fuck you, Black,_ he thought with satisfaction. _I've had my revenge now._

Lupin turned onto his back and winced; a rather ungracious gesture in Snape's opinion.

"I can perform a healing spell if you are uncomfortable," said Snape coldly.

Lupin looked at him with amusement. "That's all right. I can do it myself. I _am_ a wizard after all."

Snape rolled his eyes at that inane statement. Although he wouldn't have chosen Lupin as his ideal sexual partner, the experience had been very pleasant. He even found himself wondering whether Lupin would be interested in doing it again some time.

He found that his mind was wandering again, thinking about how things changed, and how appropriate it was that old enemies made "strange bedfellows", as the saying went. He was feeling pleasantly drowsy.

"Remus," he said after a pause. "Did you just wake up one morning and think 'I know, I really want to spend the rest of my life being buggered'?"

Lupin laughed. "Bloody hell, you're worse than Tonks. You really just say whatever drops into your head, don't you?"

"Actually, I think very carefully about everything I say. I just don't consider it necessary to spare other people's feelings." He looked down his nose at Lupin. "You can't deny you enjoyed that."

Something about his demeanour must have been a bit too Snapish, because Lupin suddenly looked embarrassed, and reached for his wand. Snape looked away while the man performed the cleaning spell. They lay in silence for a while.

"Did it help?" asked Lupin finally.

Snape looked at him. He assumed the man was talking about relaxation, but he thought there might be something else behind the question. He decided to remain silent, to see if Lupin would volunteer some more information. The next words ran a cold shiver down his spine.

"Did you get your revenge?"

Snape was taken aback by Lupin's question, and pondered it for a moment. He knew that Dumbledore wanted him to let go of his dislike of the Marauders. Perhaps the old wizard felt that it was damaging his usefulness to the Order. There certainly seemed to be a feeling among his colleagues that his last argument with Black, the night Potter and his idiot groupies vanished into the forest, was the cause of the man's death. On the other hand, Snape thought they preferred to blame him rather than admit that their precious Boy Who Lived was also the idiot who ran head first into the Dark Lord's trap.

Dismissing the thought of the Wizarding World's White Hope being such a dunderhead, Snape wondered if Lupin had offered himself to give Snape the chance to let go of their antagonistic past. Given Lupin's devotion to the cause and apparent masochistic streak, it was possible. But improbable. And Snape didn't care what had motivated the man. The evening had been pleasant, and even the thought of Black and Potter wasn't enough to arouse his anger.

So he said what Lupin wanted to hear.

"Yes, I suppose I did."


End file.
